


Computer literacy

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Embarrassment, M/M, May/December Relationship, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Aziraphale is persuaded to take computer literacy classes...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 97
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Hello!  
> Sorry about all the comments I didn't answer. See, I don't get many, unless I post every day, so if I don't reply, it's because I cherish each comment and reread them all the time. Love you all.

Death of an old friend might become the trigger for many worrisome thoughts. It's a time for reflexion and meditation, some might say in low voices. 

For Mr Aziraphale Fell the death of his accountant and friend Mr Shadwell turned into a meditation on how little he could do without a little help from his friend, for despite his venomous hatred of all things modern, Mr Shadwell was in charge of all the operations in the bookshop. Since Mr Shadwell had a propensity to steal every now and then, Mr Fell silently checked all the accounts, but, being a kind man, Mr Fell would never point it out to Mr Shadwell, oh no, he'd just correct the mistake so, that Mr Shadwell still got away with his stealing but with smaller results. Aziraphale wouldn't feel comfortable confronting his accountant, although he tends to have no trouble whatsoever confronting the well-dressed and square-jawed people who try to buy his building in Soho, which has been in the possession of Aziraphale's family for years and tended to end up in the hands of the most bookish person in that generation of the Fells. 

Besides, if the well-dressed and square-jawed men find Aziraphale's arguments lacking, he can always send - and always does - his young nephew Gabriel to take care of them. After all, Gabriel is the most cut-throat lawyer in town and he likes to show off. It used to be funnier for all the parties involved when Gabriel was still a student. 

And if the well-dressed and square-jawed men can't be persuaded by Gabriel, there's Gabriel's spouse Bea who fills the air with fear every time they breathe, and they tend to breathe normally. Bea is a lawyer too. They put so many criminals behind the bars that most people choose not to argue with them. It's still fun these days, Bea is younger than their husband and has no qualms about being barely illegal for the greater good - something Gabriel doesn't approve of, but in secret or when very deep in his cups. 

But back to our sheep. During Shadwell's funeral it turns out he had been having a tumultuous and passionate affair with his landlady, a charming dominatrix in her fifties who doubles as a clairvoyant, or so Aziraphale puts it. Tracy is a dear, everyone knows that immediately. 

Aziraphale's friend Ana, the owner of a peculiar occult shop down the road from Aziraphale, becomes Tracy's friend the moment she greets the woman, but it's a bit inappropriate, in Aziraphale's opinion. Alas, he can't say so, because Gabriel is bending his ear.

"The man's been stealing from you for years, and you're paying for his funeral!" Gabriel hisses. "He tried to witchhunt Ana!"

"But, my dear Gabriel, Bea dealt with it, right?" Aziraphale argues and pales. Gabriel pales too, perhaps because he's aroused. 

Bea is glaring at Shadwell's picture, apparently to ensure that his soul ends up in hell sooner. 

"We could have got you a proper accountant!" Gabriel continues. 

"There's no need to worry, my dear," Aziraphale placates. 

"There is! It's the Fell family tradition, to protect and ensure the well-being of the most intellectual person in the family, and it has always been you, uncle!"

Gabriel adores Aziraphale. Aziraphale never mocked Gabriel for his tendency to be perfect in every way, eat healthier than a dietician with a stomach ulcer, jog for hours every morning and most importantly, for trying to ask Bea out while everyone tried to stay away from Bea. 

It's a fond memory of Aziraphale's, how Gabriel needed to breathe in a bag mere hours before the wedding. Also, Aziraphale's knowledge about resuscitating techniques comes from Gabriel's courting period. 

"Stop being inappropriate!" Bea tells their husband, who all but falls into the arms of his much shorter spouse with a grateful whimper. "Aziraphale, he was an arsehole. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Oh my, indeed, how am I to live without an arsehole?" Aziraphale giggles and catches himself. "He was a good…"

"Scoundrel!" Bea offers. 

"He was a good scoundrel. Had a heart of gold and old-fashioned views."

"And that's mildly put," Bea counters. "The man was one walking talking queerphobic rant!" Bea is not be argued with, although Aziraphale tries sometimes, but only after everyone involved has had some wine and is in good humour. Bea once danced with Shadwell, to everyone's horror, but Bea doesn't remember it. Aziraphale decides - again - not to share this information.

***

Aziraphale can do his accounts. He can do them all brilliantly. The problem is he can do it by hand, which means it takes him more time and Ana's help to print everything out. Aziraphale does have a computer, but it's an old thing that Aziraphale doesn't know how to turn on.

Aziraphale is an old-fashioned man himself. He dresses like a Victorian dandy who fell into a pool of sugar powder. He refuses to use anything without cords or cables. He doesn't have a TV. He adores his radio. 

He's very well-read in queer theory, though. But he argues that it makes sense, since the queer people has been around forever. He considers Plato's Symposium queer theory too. 

Aziraphale is so soft-spoken, charming and quietly steadfast that even Bea doesn't argue with him often. Everybody else just… doesn't argue with Aziraphale if they can help it. 

Oh, where was I, where was I? Wherever has this train of thought taken us? Must be a nice place… Let me take a look outside…

***

Every day Ana comes to Aziraphale to have lunch. Ana might be brilliant at making potions or whatever it should be called, but she couldn't ever make a soup like Aziraphale, so Aziraphale is waiting for her with soup.

Currently, Ana is talking about her absolutely useless boyfriend. 

Now, Aziraphale is all against any traditional dynamics, unless we're talking about radio, but Ana's boyfriend is truly useless. On the other hand, he makes Ana happy and he listens to her and believes in her and would do anything for her, so it should be enough for Aziraphale, if it's enough for Ana. 

Ana comes from big corporate money, which she hates, so perhaps a guy who's obsessed with computers but can't touch one without breaking it, who can't touch an iron without ironing something like his own hand, who thinks that Ana deserves the world for being what she is, is indeed something good. Ana still hasn't brought him to Aziraphale, because she's afraid he'd cause a fire, but to each their own. After all, Aziraphale has a collection of the Victorian era vibrators, so he shouldn't judge. 

"Anyway, Newt wants to take this computer literacy course for senior citizens in the local library. They say the teacher there is to die for, although I don't know if that old lady meant his sexiness or pedagogical talents."

"Pedagogical talents can be sexy," Aziraphale replies before he can think. 

"Aziraphale, you need a date!" Ana sips the remains of her soup with an obnoxious slurp. 

"I'm old, my dear. I'm not sexy."

"Oh, shut up! You need to be able to do your accounting! You need some skills before you dive into that!"

Ana ends up persuading Aziraphale to join the class. Aziraphale doesn't consider himself a senior citizen, but who is he kidding he's… older than sixty, let's say? And he hasn't had sex in years, and Ana promised him that everyone there will be horny in general and for Aziraphale in particular.

***

So one evening, the evening Aziraphale will spend years celebrating as the day he met his husband, the old bookseller enters the class. 

It's dark outside and far too bright inside, and there are a few old ladies and gentlemen, and in the centre of it all…

In the centre of it all…

Dark glasses, lithe form, black clothes and a blinding smile. 

Oh, and Newt is there too. He's not hard to spot, he's the youngest there. His cheekbones are alright, Aziraphale thinks, but they are nothing compared to the cheekbones of the teacher, dark glasses, lithe form, black clothes, auburn hair Aziraphale wants to run his fingers through _now._

"Hello! You must be Aziraphale!" The vision, nay, the embodiment of all Aziraphale's fantasies says and cheerily points to a still unoccupied desk.

Aziraphale nods, sits where he's told to sit and stares at the dark screen in front of him.

"So, my name is Crowley, and I will be your teacher. Please, don't hesitate to call me!" He points at the blackboard where a phone number has been jotted down. 

Aziraphale swallows. 

"Let's start with the basics!" Crowley says. 

That evening Aziraphale learns how to turn a computer on - he wants to turn Crowley on, and hard. 

That evening Aziraphale learns what different parts of the computer are called - they are all boring parts. 

That evening Aziraphale is introduced to solitaire, because it's supposed to help him use the mouse well.

Oh, and Crowley doesn't mean the mice that try to eat Aziraphale's priceless books, no. He means something else. 

Aziraphale is very good at solitaire, as it turns out, but it's not a surprise to Aziraphale - he's been playing solitaire since he was a boy. He was trained by his mother, aunt, grandmother, great-aunt and great-great-aunt.

So in short, it's a fun class. 

Moreover, when Newt manages to devoid the entire building of electricity, Crowley announces - in the dark - that he has a generator, so it's all fine…

The classes are thrice a week.

***

The next class Crowley watches everyone play solitaire and compliments Aziraphale. Crowley's cashmere turtleneck is too much for Aziraphale, he needs his cardiologist. 

The dark glasses are still there, stylish, mysterious and sexy. 

Crowley teaches them what a browser is. 

And then he asks his old and horny students to google something. He does explain what Google is, and he does it calmly and without any judgement. Aziraphale shouldn't be so in love. 

"So, ladies, gentleman and non-binary eldritch awesome creatures…" Crowley begins. Someone next to Aziraphale sniffles and says a prayer for Crowley's health in Latin.

"Why don't you look for something? No judgement here! I'm a child of Hell, I approve of everything!"

The sniffles grow in volume, and Aziraphale looks at the blindingly white page. 

He looks at the keyboard. His thoughts are worse than anything Google can offer, but Aziraphale doesn't know it, so he starts typing with one manicured index finger.

What he means to type in is _Dorian name origin._

What he sees when he risks a look at the screen is _Dorian reamed by Bull_. 

Aziraphale frowns.

He clicks on the first link (it's called a link, he knows, he's a good student, and someone's _good boy_ ).

The volume picks up immediately, it's all moans and _oh yes amatus harder_. 

Aziraphale blushes. He raises his eyes and sees a handsome man with handsome moustache being indeed reamed by a much bigger man with… fucking horns!

"Oh, yeah," Crowley says behind him. "Yeah, that's my pairing. Perfect. Perfect," Crowley's voice becomes dreamy, his hand is on the back of Aziraphale's chair. "How did you know?" Crowley asks, and he means… he means that he's surprised that Aziraphale knows something about _Dragon Age_ …

"I wanted to google something else," Aziraphale whispers. He does his best to close the window and he manages it. Crowley praises him for it. 

***

Aziraphale comes home, uses his new knowledge to start his ancient computer and he looks up _Dragon Age._

He discovers fanfiction. 

And some awesome lore.

It's an eventful night, it is. Aziraphale feels so young… 

He wants horns too. He wants a lover with magical abilities, lithe form, moustache would be good too… 

***

The next time Aziraphale steps into the class, he knows a lot about _Dragon Age._ He managed to research the issue and order a better computer. He's very proud of himself - so much so, that he tells Crowley about it the moment he can.

"Wow! That's awesome! So proud of you!" Crowley even takes his dark glasses off, to reveal almost yellow eyes, obviously light sensitive and so… so… so warm and soft. 

Crowley teaches them about some tricks and tips. He helps them to set up their Facebook page, and their Instagram page too. 

Those who have grandkids, they get some help with sending messages to said grandkids.

Aziraphale feels alone and abandoned. He doesn't have grandkids, it hasn't ever been a possibility, and it hurts…

"Ok, angel. How can I help?" Crowley is so close to Aziraphale that Aziraphale can feel his breath. 

"I… I don't have any grandkids. I…" Aziraphale realises that he's fighting a sob.

"Hey, it's alright, angel. Anyone you know that might have an instagram? I do have one, you can always, you know, subscribe to me. I'll subscribe to you regardless." Crowley lowers his glasses and winks at Aziraphale.

"Well… I… I have this friend. She's… a… a witch. Owns a shop. Her name is Ana Device."

Crowley helps Aziraphale find Ana's instagram. 

Aziraphale feels emboldened. 

With Crowley's help he finds Gabriel's instagram, and Bea's instagram. 

"Brilliant, angel. You're awesome!"

"I'm not an angel!" 

"If you say so," Crowley agrees easily. "But you look like one, with your blond hair and blue eyes… you look… good." Crowley blushes, because he's a shade of ginger, he blushes so fucking much. 

"Want to find my instagram too?"

Crowley's instagram is plants. And more plants. It's full of Latin, too, but it's scientific, not theological. 

"My dear, there are absolutely sinfully gorgeous!"

"Yeah? Yeah, I guess so… I guess so. You're welcome to have a look… Yeah." 

Crowley walks away, and as he does, Aziraphale realises that Crowley doesn't walk, no, no, no, he… he saunters. His hips sway, his hips slap Aziraphale's reason, his hips are so…

He ends the lesson.

Aziraphale curses Crowley and goes to sleep with a biography of Salieri.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mention it, but all Aziraphale's disastrous googling is based on the examples Em and Sani provided me with, and wahoo to them!

Fridays both Aziraphale and Ana close early. 

Aziraphale's hours are there just… just so. His clientele are people who collect old books or need those books restored, so his hours are as useful as… as any rococo thingie, which is, it's all pretty and comme-il-faut but no one, well, mostly no one, knows what to do with them. It's there like Aziraphale's bowtie and cream-coloured clothes. 

Ana brings a bottle of calvados. 

Before long both Aziraphale and Ana are adorably tipsy. 

"He's hot," Aziraphale says serenely.

"Who?"

"Crowley. Crowley is hot. He's my teacher. I can't…"

"Crowley?! The Crowley?" Ana almost wheezes.

Aziraphale's new computer wheezes too, when Ana turns it on.

"Ok, you're telling me, seriously, that Crowley is your teacher? This Crowley?" Ana shows Aziraphale a picture of Crowley. He's… beautiful. He's so beautiful.

"Aziraphale… Aziraphale, listen!" Ana takes another sip of her calvados. "Crowley, Anthony J. Crowley, he's a big name in computer science right now! He makes the best programs for senior users and for the disabled users and… and you name it! Ok… ok, so it says here that he teaches computer literacy classes for seniors because he wants more insight into his target audience difficulties… oh, oh… He says he accepts no money from… from anyone. Aziraphale… ooooh, Aziraphale…" Ana smiles slyly. "You gold-digger!" She takes another sip. No one is fully conscious here at the moment. "He's hot." Ana finally agrees.

"Yes, but is he gay? He can't be gay!" Aziraphale takes a sip of calvados too. 

"Wait… wait… wait… There! He's pansexual! You need to ask him out!"

"Ana! He's my teacher! He's so much younger! It's inappropriate!"

"Your course is two months long! Afterwards…" 

"Afterwards there are more classes! I intend to excel!" Aziraphale almost falls off his chair.

"No, no, you can find someone else… or… or… if you date him and it all goes smoothly, he'll teach you  _ privately _ ." Ana wiggles her eyebrows.

Aziraphale blushes and waves his hands at Ana. 

They don't remember that night anyway, so it's alright. 

***

It quickly becomes clear that Aziraphale can't use Google without a scandal. 

Crowley begins the next class by asking everyone to turn on the computer and search for something.

So Aziraphale does.

First, he thinks about his abandoned… ehm… so called patio. He thinks he should research the topic of decking. He types in  _ garden decking _ .

He ends up with porn.

He apologises and types in  _ hard core garden decking. _

He ends up with porn.

Crowley is patient even when he's choking on his laughter.

Afterwards Crowley teaches them how to use the Office, and surprisingly, there's no porn.

***

The next class is the same and more and worse. 

Aziraphale thinks about those cute birds, tits. And he types in  _ blue garden tits. _

Since he's as gay as it gets, he doesn't understand what's happening for a few shameful minutes, during which most of the class gathers behind his chair. 

Crowley chokes on his laughter again and looks at Aziraphale with unbearable fondness which Aziraphale mistakes for unbearable pity.

***

The next class Aziraphale wants to search for the pictures of roosters, and he doesn't see any reason to think twice about typing in  _ Russian cocks pictures _ .

Well, the results are more to his liking, but there are no roosters, none at all.

The same happens with shags and boobies. 

Aziraphale decides that the birds conspire against him. 

His classmates think he has a talent for porn, because he finds the kinkiest shit anyone might wish for.

***

Aziraphale gives up on birds. Gardening is about flowers after all. 

So he types in  _ nub pruning _ . The nipple play video he gets as a result ruins any semblance of learning experience. 

Aziraphale is absolutely adored after this. 

Newt's problems can be solved with a generator, but Aziraphale doesn't know what to do.

He decides to search the topics connected to his love of books. 

He types  _ in hard binding _ . He doesn't want to see the results again.

***

The next class he remembers an acquaintance of his, someone who restores books too. The guy's name is Dick and he told Aziraphale that he has a YouTube channel.

Aziraphale types in  _ Dick Youtube channel _ . It's a disaster.

Crowley can hardly breathe with laughter. Aziraphale hates him for it. Well, he wants to hate him, but he's just too handsome, and he helps Aziraphale with all that embarrassment afterwards, patiently explains what went wrong and why. 

***

One evening Crowley calls Newt aside for a chat. Aziraphale stiffens, he's ready to defend the useless and hopeless boyfriend of his dear friend, but before he can, Newt leaves the class with a wide smile.

***

Ana brings more calvados.

"So, ok, Crowley told him that he could teach and made sure he got the position! Said Newt has a great grasp of various programs, and even if he can't use them without crashing… well, everything, he can teach. Crowley believes in him."

Aziraphale wants to be indignant, but instead he's just so soft for that young man in a cashmere turtleneck!

"That's… very kind of him." Aziraphale decides. 

"Oh, Newt told him the same! Apparently, Crowley hates four letter words."

Aziraphale is lost for a moment or ten. After that he barely listens to Ana, he needs his time to think about… about Crowley and four letter words.

***

Crowley keeps teaching his class the basics. He explains everything so well! When Aziraphale approaches him about all the accountancy programs, Crowley nods and asks Aziraphale to stay, and  _ stay  _ is a four letter word too. 

***

"Ok, so, there." Crowley pulls a chair loudly to sit next to Aziraphale. "Let's start with Excel."

Crowley starts with Excel.

"Oh… oh, but you said it's for the next lessons!" Aziraphale argues. 

"So what? You need it now! You seem to have needed it yesterday. I'm here to help, so I'm helping." Crowley grins. He's very close and Aziraphale can… smell him. He smells nice - oops, four letter words! He smells wonderful. Nine letters. Good word. The fellowship of a word, one letter = one fellow. It now can fuck off to Mordor or something. Cue majestic music. 

Crowley smells of something sweet, his perfume is perfect for him, there's a vague smell of tobacco too, just a hint of sweat - oops, I did it again, it's getting sexy in here - oops, and again. It's getting hot in here. Now all three letters are chasing some orcs to save two more letters to form the word hotsy. It's called  _ the Lord of the Scrabble.  _

For about half an hour Crowley is explaining Excel to Aziraphale, but Aziraphale doesn't hear, however hard he tries to concentrate. Crowley smells lovely and sits so close and smiles so giddily, and he has pushed his sunglasses up into his artfully messy hair and his eyes are aglimmer with something… something exciting, something sparkly and champagne-like, the best champaign there is. 

Crowley suddenly leans back in his chair. He has ridiculously long legs, which Aziraphale can't help tracing with his eyes on a better day, but today Crowley is so close…

"You seem like a book kind of man, Aziraphale," Crowley says. "How about we get you some books on the subject? You're a smart man and a quick learner. I say, you don't really need me, you need a book." Crowley gives Aziraphale another grin, having just broken Aziraphale's heart, which is a bit of a surprise to Aziraphale, he hasn't expected himself to be so hurt by  _ you don't really need me _ . 

"I… you're a good teacher," Aziraphale says to his hands on his lap. 

"As good as it gets, indeed, but you're a brilliant student… Look!" Crowley gets up, puts his sunglasses back and walks away to grab his coat. "How about we go to a bookshop, I'll help you with the books and you won't need to waste your time on the last lesson of the course? Please, let me get you some books, Aziraphale!"

"I… I know, I've been bothersome, but really, my dear…" Aziraphale finds it difficult to get up but he does get up. 

"Oh… oh no!" Crowley is very close to Aziraphale again, his face gentle and scared. "No, no, angel!.. I mean, Aziraphale… I'm sorry, can't help it, you look like an angel. I'm… I… fuck! I'm so bad with words!" Crowley pulls at his hair with a frustrated groan. Aziraphale can't take his eyes off of him and can't get a hold of his breath. 

"Look!" Crowley straightens up and gets rid of his sunglasses. He's very serene now, which makes his pale brown eyes lose their sparkle. "I can't talk about it here, let's go."

Aziraphale follows the younger man outside and to a vintage Bentley. Aziraphale can't help but let out a stunned  _ awww _ . 

"Yeah, she's a beauty. Don't worry, it's customised and therefore absolutely safe." Crowley opens the door for Aziraphale and waves inside. 

"This car is older than me," Aziraphale says. 

"And almost just as sexy," Crowley replies smoothly. "You're but a young man compared to her."

"And to dinosaurs," Aziraphale deadpans. 

"Fuck!" Crowley starts the car and begins to drive. Aziraphale does want to believe that the car is safe, because the driving is not safe at all. "You try and you think you're flirting and then you go and make an ageist joke! Fuck!" 

Aziraphale can't answer that, because he's remembering all the prayers he knows and he knows a lot of them.

Thankfully, quite soon they arrive to a chain bookstore, the one Aziraphale wouldn't set his foot in even on a rainy day and without an umbrella. Crowley navigates it easily, so before long he's holding a few very thick volumes - and takes them all to the cashier.

And as soon as the books are paid for, Crowley drops on one knee and offers his small library to Aziraphale. There are gasps and cooing from the evening crowd and Aziraphale knows he has to be uncomfortable, but Crowley is offering him a small library, standing on one knee. It's romantic. "Angel! Aziraphale! Please don't come to the last lesson, let me take you out to dinner instead! As of the last fifteen minutes you're not my student, that is, if you agree to skip the last lesson and have dinner with me!" Crowley grins. "Therefore we can date! I mean, we could. If you want. No pressure." Crowley gets up and hastily shoves the books into Aziraphale's hands. He's flustered, but Aziraphale thinks he might start crying. 

"Oh… oh my dear boy, I'd love to!" 

Crowley grins even wider, he's such a handsome devil, and he wants to date Aziraphale. Aaaaand he's walking out of the shop, tugging Aziraphale along. 

"Why… why do you want to date me?" Aziraphale suddenly asks. He's tucked into the old Bentley and he's hugging a small library. 

"Are you kidding me? You're unbelievably hot! Your thighs alone… thick as a Russian novel… and here I go again, screwing up an untoward compliment." Crowley drops his head on the wheel. 

"My dear, you need food, and we're having some!" Aziraphale wiggles in his seat. "What would you say to the Ritz?" 

"Your eyes shine so bright you scare me, angel," Crowley says in awe. "Don't we need a reservation, though?"

"You might need a reservation, but I don't." Aziraphale is feeling positively smug. And giddy. 

"Hmmmm," Crowley replies wittily. "Ngk," he adds. "Alright. The Ritz it is!"

"I'm well-off, my dear, I can afford it," Aziraphale says apologetically. 

"Hey, angel, it's a date! I'm paying…"

Aziraphale chuckles and shakes his head. "My friend, she's heard about you. Called me… called me gold-digger."

"Oh my, angel, you talked about me with your friends! And they… they ship us!" 

After some fanfiction Aziraphale knows what Crowley means so he blushes. 

***

Aziraphale's table is there and the evening isn't that busy anyway. Everyone smiles at Aziraphale, which Crowley finds appropriate - and says so, delighted by the reaction it causes, by the glow on Aziraphale's face. 

***

"Google hates me," Aziraphale says after they order dessert. It's something that's been on his mind and he really wants to talk about it, especially after he spent the whole meal talking about nothing and watching Crowley eating nothing but listening to every word Aziraphale has uttered…

Alright, alright, Aziraphale was gossiping about Ana and Newt, about their untraditional dynamics, about Ana being a witch and Newt breaking every electric appliance within his range. 

"He has encyclopedic knowledge of the programs, though," Crowley said at one point, and that was all. 

"Why do you think that Google hates you?" Crowley asks with the softness of a newly fletched goose chick.

"Because… oh, you saw that!" Aziraphale blushes. Crowley likes the colour. 

"I think it's just the universe's way of flirting with you," Crowley says with the combined softness of an old fleece blanket and a newly fletched goose chick. "Look, let's… let's check your theory." He pulls out a slick laptop out of his bag. 

"Don't you have one of those fancy phones?" Aziraphale asks. 

"I do. But it would require more cuddling than either of us is comfortable with at a public place. Besides, you're wearing reading glasses when in class, so the laptop should be more comfortable." He sets the laptop right next to Aziraphale's dessert plate. "There, have a go."

"The results will be even more inappropriate," Aziraphale says but he wouldn't resist Crowley, wouldn't refuse a thing to him, so he waits until Crowley turns off all the sound and types in  _ fingering techniques _ . 

Crowley looks at Aziraphale with so much tenderness that his sunglasses don't help.

"Angel, what did you want to find?" Crowley asks, ignoring all the sexy filth on the screen, that makes a passing waiter drop his tray. 

"I… I thought about various… exercises for quick typing," Aziraphale says. He's so red and pretty!

"How can someone as clever as you be so… innocent?" Crowley types in something else - and there's no porn. Aziraphale is almost disappointed. Crowley suggests he searches for something else, so Aziraphale thinks about the least sexy thing and what he intends to type in is  _ Anathema _ , but Google quickly changes it into  _ anal themes.  _

"Ok, angel, you need to watch what you're typing. Don't let this machine control you…"

Aziraphale looks aside and bites his lip. Damn public places, Crowley wants to have him right there. 

"Does it… I'm sorry for the question, but it might be important if you want to have more dates with me. Are you sex-repulsed?"

Aziraphale blushes even more and bites his lip even harder. Crowley swallows and thinks of hockey. Hockey always helps him lose any interest in sex. 

"I'm… I'm not. I'm… I love sex!" Aziraphale says bravely. It's not loud enough to be heard by someone who's not Crowley, but Crowley has to grab the table and think about hockey harder. 

"Oh… good. Great. Fantastic."

"I know I shouldn't! I'm old and…"

"No, no, no, none of it, angel. It's… it's fine. How about you have another go?"

Aziraphale is feeling emboldened. No one could blame him, he thinks, because if they dare shame him now, he'll stab them with one of the numerous forks he's used during the evening. 

And so he glances at Crowley and types in  _ how do you undress your lover if they wear very tight jeans?  _

Google gives up pranking on Aziraphale and for once offers him a wikihow page, while Crowley is laughing next to Aziraphale. He pulls the laptop to himself and types in  _ I really like you _ .


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a double update, because it's smut. Oh, and Goethe. You know me. I'm so happy you know me.

Aziraphale wakes up well rested and much later than he usually does. He stretches. He yawns. Life is good, the morning is sunny, no, no, no, the taste of dead frogs in his mouth won't ruin his mood. 

Aziraphale closes his eyes and wiggles in his soft sheets and giggles at the memories of the previous evening. He giggles some more.

Dear Mr Fell, we're dying here to know what happened the previous evening, so will you please man up and share it with us?

Well, if you must know, Crowley drove Aziraphale back to Aziraphale's bookshop. 

"Thank you, angel. It was… it was amazing!" Crowley sighs dreamily and takes off his sunglasses. 

"Why are you wearing these, my dear?" Aziraphale doesn't notice at which point he leans over to Crowley, so that Aziraphale's breath touches Crowley's lips. Normally, Aziraphale is not so brave, but that skinny darling next to him might have claimed Aziraphale's sanity, might have uploaded it into a cloud somewhere, and so far Aziraphale doesn't miss his sanity at all. 

"My eyes, they are creepy," Crowley rasps, tilting his head just so, dear hopeful boy. 

"Bollocks! Your eyes are beautiful," Aziraphale cups Crowley's face, he needs him just where he is, and if Crowley wants to move, he needs to make an effort, which he apparently doesn't want to make. 

"Yeah?"

"Definitely, my dear… May I kiss you?"

"I've been waiting for it for… for a few seconds."

"So impatient, my dear. What am I to do with you?" Aziraphale asks and kisses Crowley. 

Crowley gasps into Aziraphale's mouth, struggles with those long arms of his before they find their way around Aziraphale's shoulders. Making out in a car that is older than Aziraphale isn't exactly something Aziraphale has been dreaming of, but that's his mistake. It's the best thing ever, it beats everything else. 

Aziraphale hasn't ever noticed the sounds that accompany kissing, but now he thinks he can send Mozart packing - that's how much he enjoys all those wet pops, shaking breathes, the skin on skin shuffle, all of it. It's a symphony Mahler would have killed for… Or Salieri, not Mahler. Anyways, Aziraphale is sure any big composer would only prove their intelligence if they scream with envy hearing the sounds Crowley makes. Aziraphale makes some sounds too… It's the combination that's enviable. 

"I'll call you in the morning… I don't have your number, but I will!" Crowley promises in between kisses.

"Sure, my dear," Aziraphale agrees and kisses Crowley some more. "Will you be my clever darling and remember my number?" Aziraphale moves to bite Crowley's ear and neck, to breathe him in enough to last him the night.

So he tells Crowley his number, and Crowley offers his entire neck to Aziraphale while he fumbles around to get his phone and write down Aziraphale's number. 

"Hey, angel…" Crowley calls with a very calm voice and cups Aziraphale's face, looks him in the eye. "You're beautiful. Sleep well," Crowley gives Aziraphale another kiss. 

"Why, you want me to go already?"

"No, not at all! No… no, angel, I don't want you to go. But it was important to get the message to you… yes, where were we?"

Aziraphale exits the car thoroughly kissed and a bit dazy. He enjoys the shower immensely, he doesn't feel old, he doesn't feel young either, he… he feels himself, whatever it might mean. And he does sleep well.

Somewhere in his flat the phone is ringing. It's a joyous sound, which, Aziraphale hopes, will bring him to Crowley, so he gets up and walks to the kitchen where his landline is. 

"Yes, Aziraphale Fell speaking," Aziraphale says.

"Morning, angel," Crowley positively purrs. "Slept well?"

Aziraphale wants to melt into that voice, and he wants to melt into those endless arms even more, and he wants to kiss Crowley… Oh, but alas, he has dead frogs in his mouth.

"Morning, my darling. I slept splendidly. What about you?"

"Oh, angel, I couldn't sleep a wink," Crowley replies seriously. "What are you doing to me?"

"My darling boy, whatever it is I'm doing, it can't be pleasant." 

"No way, angel," Crowley says, still very serious.

"But my dear, morning breath isn't the stuff of romance."

"Maybe not yet," Crowley replies. "When is it appropriate to beg you for the second date?"

"Darling, I'm sure you beg prettily… Sugar, what am I saying…"

"Angel, I'll beg prettily. I have some work today, but in about half an hour I can bring you some pastries. Just tell me what you want."

"I want you to bring me any pastries you want, Crowley…" Aziraphale feels himself getting serious as well. "Just come to me, darling. I'd love to see you."

"Alright, angel. I'll be there. You don't have to brush your teeth."

"I'll do it just for you."

"Aziraphale, you're a very considerate… lover. See you soon!" Crowley panics and hangs up.

"Foolish boy, my darling," Aziraphale chides the dead line. 

He takes a shower, gets dressed and makes himself some tea. 

Then he remembers that he hasn't shaved, so he rushes to do so. 

Crowley is still on his way, so Aziraphale calls Gabriel.

"Gabriel, I'm in love, I think, which means that I might indeed need an accountant!" Aziraphale informs cheerily.

There's silence and some shuffling on Gabriel's end.

"Ok, do I need to kill them?" Gabriel asks. 

"Gabriel! Why would you kill my darling?"

"I don't know. It's what Bea might do, I think," Gabriel replies. 

"I wouldn't!" Bea yells. "Take off your collar, you idiot, and be a good nephew. So sorry, Aziraphale!"

Aziraphale giggles. "My dears, you're so kinky, I envy you… a bit. But I'm in love and I thought you should know!"

There's some more shuffling, then Bea takes over the phone. "Ok, right, that's awesome. Tell me if you want them checked or killed or something…"

"Bea, you're terrifying! No! No killing, no checking! His name is Crowley…"

"Oh, you gold-digger!" Bea exclaims. "Well, you're never too old to become a trophy husband!" They giggle. "Sorry, that was ageist."

"Not at all! And I'm feeling too naughty to be offended… Oh, here he is with my morning pastries!"

"Is that a euphemism?" Bea manages to ask, but Aziraphale ends the call all the same.

He rushes downstairs and opens the door - to the sight of Crowley wearing a v-neck shirt under his black peacoat with red lining. 

"Just like Mephisto and Goethe, my dear…" Aziraphale whispers. He can't help it, it's all Crowley's fault that Aziraphale is pulling him inside and against the door. It's all Crowley's fault that Aziraphale kisses Crowley's lips - just a touch, just a greeting, and then leans down to place a kiss to the edge of Crowley's collarbone, peeking teasingly out of that v-neck. 

"Azir… Angel…"

"So sorry, my dear, but not sorry at all… you're delectable…" Aziraphale remembers himself. "Oh no… oh, I'm sorry indeed," but before he can finish, he's the one pinned to the door, Crowley's lips insistent on his.

A paper bag full of pastries falls on the floor, the peacoat follows, Aziraphale doesn't trust Crowley with his bowtie, so helps with it a bit, but soon it silently descends upon the peacoat, and Crowley is moaning into Aziraphale's mouth, while Aziraphale's hands push down Crowley's collar to expose more of those collarbones.

"Angel… oh my sweet, beautiful angel," Crowley whimpers.

It's not easy, but Aziraphale manages to slide his hands down Crowley's pants and grab that skinny arse. 

Aziraphale, being the older one here, finds some presence of mind and pushes Crowley farther inside, into the bookshop's backroom, where Crowley, the sly devil, maneuvers Aziraphale to sit on the old sofa and straddles him. "May I… may I take your shirt off?" Crowley asks.

"Darling… darling, anything…"

Aziraphale's shirt is swiftly unbuttoned, Crowley's hot breath and even hotter mouth touch Aziraphale's skin, kiss across his chest, Crowley's lips close over a nipple and suck gently. 

"You showered," Crowley accuses. 

"I… I did…"

"So it's all lavender… and I want you!" Crowley falls to the floor, kissing Aziraphale's belly, fondling Aziraphale's sides. "May I? May I open your trousers, angel?"

He's so serious, his mischievous, darling boy, he's so naughty, and he's taking it all so seriously, that Aziraphale can't feel self-conscious, can't do anything but unbutton his trousers and offer Crowley his cock (with a touch of lavender) and wait for Crowley to… to do anything.

"You're so hot, angel…" Crowley gently lowers Aziraphale's pants, because Crowley wants access to Aziraphale's inner thighs. 

And he pushes Aziraphale's legs over his shoulders and leans in, breathes hotly. 

"Hot… beautiful… mine… wish you were mine," Crowley whispers. He doesn't take his eyes off of Aziraphale as he takes Aziraphale's cock into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking softly. 

"Oh… oh sweetheart… yes… darling, yes." Aziraphale plays with Crowley's hair, pulls at it gently, coos praises and endearments Crowley seems to fail to hear, as he begins to suck harder and more demanding, although his only demand is Aziraphale's pleasure. He's but a pile of limbs between Aziraphale's legs. 

"Sweetheart… my darling… ah… oh… aaah, darling, please, take off your shirt."

Crowley stops his sucking to oblige, but he returns to it immediately, even before his arms make an exit out of the sleeves. 

Aziraphale caresses those sharp shoulders, kisses the top of Crowley's head. 

Crowley comes out for air, gasping and coughing a bit. "You… fuck, I wanted it the moment you entered my class, you… you marvelous you, angel…" 

His lips are around Aziraphale's cock again, stretched around the girth, choking and winking and moaning and thrashing as if it were Crowley being pleasured. 

"Honey…" it's the first word Aziraphale can think about, so he says it. "Darling… darling… touch yourself, my beautiful boy, touch yourself…"

"No, it's about you. Everything is about you," Crowley whispers around Aziraphale's cock, and it's not exactly easy to understand, but Aziraphale does understand it, he loves how ridiculous this is, he loves how right it is, he loves the heat of Crowley's mouth. 

Crowley's arms are around Aziraphale's waist, pulling closer and harder and deeper, Crowley's moans grow louder. 

"Darling… darling… it's been a long time, darling, I…" But Aziraphale can't speak anymore, and Crowley holds him even tighter and closer.

"Yes, yes, my angel, like that," Crowley says. Aziraphale can see his spend dripping off Crowley's lips, although Crowley doesn't seem to care, he places warm and wet kisses all over Aziraphale's inner thighs, then rests his head there and looks up at Aziraphale. "You're beautiful, angel… Even more beautiful when you're like this… all disheveled and mad with pleasure." Crowley grins. It's a lustful, filthy grin, and it's perfect, so perfect that Aziraphale pulls Crowley up until the younger man is sitting in Aziraphale's lap.

Aziraphale opens Crowley's fly, pushes his underwear down, down, down, away, until Aziraphale can grab Crowley's cock, until Aziraphale can tug gently and catch Crowley's moan in a kiss. 

"Good, darling? Like that? Look at me, my perfect lover, look at me…"

Crowley obeys easily, he looks at Aziraphale, and his hips move so that Crowley can fuck Aziraphale's fist. 

"Yes, darling, yes, take your pleasure… yes… Oh, you're so pretty, my Crowley, you're so pretty. Take what's yours… I won't let you get away like this next time, no, next time I'll eat you out until you scream, my pretty boy…"

Crowley collapses over Aziraphale, shaking and trembling in Aziraphale's arms. "Yes, darling, yes, so good for me, so beautiful."

Crowley groans, he falls off Aziraphale's lap, licking Aziraphale's belly clean, licking down, under Aziraphale's navel, lower and lower, biting Aziraphale's balls, going down and down and down, until his hot tongue is prodding at Aziraphale's hole, stubborn and gentle.

"Darling… oh, my impatient darling! Crowley… Crowley, stop!"

Crowley stops and looks up at Aziraphale. 

"Anything more, anything else, and…" Aziraphale touches Crowley's hair, plays with it. "Do you have to be anywhere else soon?"

"My… my company. My rules. What can I do for you, angel?"

Crowley's angel kicks off his shoes, socks and trousers, frees himself from his coat, waistcoat and shirt. He's naked there, with Crowley's arms around his hips.

"Take off your clothes, sweetheart, take off everything."

Crowley does so, awkwardly and with a lot of hopping around, until he's standing there, naked and glorious, all of him for Aziraphale.

"Come with me, baby," Aziraphale whispers, taking Crowley's hand. 

Aziraphale tugs him along, up the stairs, into his flat, and into his bed, messy and somehow still warm. There, Aziraphale lies down, spreading his legs and offering himself to Crowley without an ounce of shame, and as soon as he's comfortable, Crowley's tongue is at his hole again.

"I'm… I'm too old to care, and I trust you." Aziraphale handles Crowley the lube. "You take me. You claim me… it's been too long, darling, it's…" Aziraphale can't speak anymore, there are Crowley's fingers inside him, joining his tongue, gentle, persistent, unyielding.

"It'll take some time, angel… you taste so good."

"Take your time, darling… oh… oh, right there."

Crowley smirks right into Aziraphale's arse, the devil, the damned darling, the perfect love of… oh, it's too fast. 

"You… you want it, angel? Me, inside you?" Crowley asks it with a doubt in his voice, therefore Aziraphale has to pull him up and hold him and kiss Crowley's temple. 

"Yes, darling… yes, please."

Crowley grins at Aziraphale. "You're… you're so lovely, my… angel… Condom?"

"No, sweet… No, just you. I trust you."

Crowley slides inside, and he means to do it slowly, but his saliva and copious amounts of lube that he has squeezed out just because he's too nervous… He slides inside and chokes up there, above Aziraphale. 

"Ssssorry about that. I…"

"You're perfect. Now, won't you move, darling?"

So Crowley moves. 

He moves and moves and moves. 

And he rocks.

He totally rocks.

He can't help kissing every inch of Aziraphale's skin he can reach without moving his arms, because his arms feel so sweet around Aziraphale's shoulders. 

And he loves Aziraphale's hair, over his chest and shoulders, it's whiter than the hair on Aziraphale's head, Crowley finds it precious. He files it out for later, to trace the way Aziraphale's hair changes down from his head, to his chest…

"It feels so good, angel… _you_ feel so good, angel. You're lovely. You're perfect." Crowley kisses Aziraphale and moves faster, watching Aziraphale's face closely, following every change there. 

"Want me to touch you?"

"No, darling, just like that, just like that…"

***

"Angel, I'm afraid we might have stepped over your pastries," Crowley mumbles into Aziraphale's chest. 

"It's fine, darling. I'm just worried you're late for work."

"Fuck work."

"No, no, darling, you can't fuck work, you've just fucked me!"

"Ok, angel, I won't fuck work. You're better than any work. Can I be your sugar baby?"

"I don't know, darling… Can I be your sugar baby?"

"Just for the untraditional dynamics, you can."

Aziraphale holds Crowley a bit tighter and smooches his sweaty forehead. 

"You know… I… I thought, screw it all, the moment I saw you… so bright… so beautiful."

"Darling, you need a nap."

Aziraphale traces Crowley's ear with his fingers. 

"As you wish, angel," Crowley replies sleepily. 

"I wish you rest here, with me."

"Sure… no trouble."

And Crowley is asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short and fluffy teaser of an update to make up for yesterday. There will be another update in about ten hours.

Aziraphale wakes up from his pleasant little nap to the sight of Crowley's arse in the afternoon light. Crowley is pacing the room, his phone pushed to his ear, his voice quiet and careful. Aziraphale wants to kiss him and bring him back to bed.

But Crowley is pacing Aziraphale's bedroom, that is all so excited and expecting the younger man to honour it with the title of  _ their  _ bedroom…

Crowley is speaking quietly, he tries at least, but the voice on the other end of the call has other ideas.

"I won't come back to the office today… Hastur, the whole point of our office is for you to buy designer furniture and pester the landlord about the accessibility of the building… Yes, I do admire your efforts." Crowley chuckles fondly. "Yes… Hastur, come on, EDMTS has to be approved by our blind developers, that's the whole point, you shouldn't send it to me!.. So what? Yes, I'm the boss… Honestly, you seem to get a kick out of it more than I do!.. Yeah… yeah… No, my senior users project isn't ready because I'm having an affair… Fuck, Hastur, yes, I'm a human, I fell in love. It does happen to the worst of us… Anyway, I've made my name, I'm here to finance everyone else now… Yes. Oh fuck, don't tell me the… No! You did what?" Crowley laughs joyously, but remembers himself, no, he remembers Aziraphale and laughs quietly. "Hastur! You're a treasure!"

Crowley ends the call and carefully walks back to the bed. 

"Hello, darling," Aziraphale greets him.

"Hello, angel. Did I wake you?" Crowley kisses Aziraphale's forehead. It shouldn't be as shattering as it is.

"No, my sweet. I woke up because it got colder, apparently."

Crowley immediately straddles Aziraphale and plasters himself over Aziraphale's body. Aziraphale caresses his spine and kisses his ear. "May I ask… what EDMTS is?"

"Oh…" Crowley sits up. Aziraphale rubs his thighs and hips, looks up at him. He's all auburn, all early autumn, invincible in its last joy. "Well… ok, I'm a sap, alright?" Crowley blushes.

"Wouldn't have suspected," Aziraphale teases. He sits up to kiss Crowley's neck and leans back to look at him, to take him all in.

"It's our blind software project. It's being built by blind developers… it's  _ eyes do more than see _ , like Azimov…"

Crowley can't finish because Aziraphale pulls him into a kiss. "Yes, darling, go on."

"There's a quadriplegic team too. Their software is called ISTBDE, which is  _ I sing the body electric _ . There's a Deaf team, too. Their project is called SOS, it means  _ sound of silence _ . My own project, the one that started this whole enterprise, is called TOMATS,  _ the old man and the sea _ ."

Aziraphale pulls him into another kiss. 

"Am I a project of yours, darling?"

"No, angel, you're too complex… Were you a project of mine, it would have meant I have managed to create AI. I'm not that rebellious… Just… I'm a late child, my moms couldn't use a computer, and I thought, what the fuck? I'm gonna make it easy for them… You think I've done well enough to deserve you, my heavenly lover?"

"More than so… Crowley…" Aziraphale is having a moment, and so is Crowley. "Why… who's Hastur?"

"He's my assistant. He runs the things mostly. We have an office in a fancy building, but my employees work from home, mostly… Hastur loves furniture shopping and pestering the landlord."

"And so… so you're mine for the rest of the day?" Aziraphale touches Crowley's back, slides his hands up Crowley's spine. 

"As long as you want, angel…"

"Be careful, darling, I'm a greedy man."

"I do hope so, angel."

***

Aziraphale is sitting in his bathtub. There's a small desk perched on the edges of the tub, and on it there's a plate with a warmed-up pastry, a cup of tea and Crowley's laptop. Crowley himself is also perched on the edge of the tub, behind Aziraphale. He's wearing Aziraphale's bathrobe, and he's massaging Aziraphale's shoulders, although  _ massage  _ isn't the right word. What he's doing is more like an endless caress that makes Aziraphale melt into Crowley's touch and rest his head against Crowley's inner thigh. Crowley is supervising Aziraphale as Aziraphale is booking a table for them. Aziraphale has been delighted to discover that most of his favourite restaurants have a website. 

"Doing beautifully, angel… Yes, yes, you're doing so well."

"Darling, I believe your cock must be more involved in this discourse."

"It's involved. It's right behind you, angel."

"Yes, under the cover of your peculiar robot boxers."

"You can find me more appropriate underwear, angel," Crowley purrs. 

They spend much time online shopping for funny underwear, then they shop for a bigger bathtub. Aziraphale manages to avoid finding porn. There's a minor argument about who pays for what, mostly consisting of the screams of  _ I am paying!  _ and kisses.

***

The days turn short, which might be due to the time of the year, but in fact is the result of Aziraphale waiting for Crowley to come. Crowley hardly leaves, of course. He works from Aziraphale's bed, or from Aziraphale's backroom, or from Aziraphale's lap. He's covered in Aziraphale's love bites and he isn't eager to wear much clothes. Hastur complains a lot, of course, but he isn't serious, anyone can hear that.

Some of Aziraphale's clients are shocked by Crowley's yells at his laptop - or are overall scandalised by the sight of Crowley's form clad in Aziraphale's bathrobe when he needs to pace in order to clear his mind - and he paces all over the place because he's a clever darling and there's a lot of mind mileage to cover. Aziraphale keeps the place warm.

Crowley has to meet Gabriel and Bea. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what else to write here... If you want to see anything, tell me so, please. I live to serve.

Aziraphale can say very little about Crowley's flat. It's obviously another playground for Hastur and his dreams of designing the most peculiar spaces - it's big, mostly dark, all the furniture is uncomfortable but very expensive and unusual, the bed is huge and actually quite nice, although Aziraphale's bed is better, because it's smaller and allows for more intense cuddling. 

The kitchen is spotless and has every possible cooking gadget. 

There's a plant room, where the plants are verdant and the pots are just as obnoxious as the rest of the place. Darling boy obviously needs to move in with Aziraphale and be spoiled… Just like he already does, but you know, officially, wiggle-wiggle. Oh, Crowley is hopeless when Aziraphale wiggles, and Aziraphale wiggles a lot. It's how he gets comfortable, really, my dear! Alright, Aziraphale might be wiggling more now, but he adores Crowley losing any semblance of coolness when he sees Aziraphale's wiggles. 

And it's a bit embarrassing and overall ridiculous, but sometimes Aziraphale likes to lie on his front and wiggle his arse just a little. Crowley loses it immediately, whatever it might be, he loses it. It must be said that Crowley, once he recovers  _ it _ , suggests that Aziraphale should learn twerking and become a superstar… He's deadly serious when he says this, so perhaps  _ it  _ has never recovered. Poor  _ it…  _ Who knows, it might have been useful to Crowley. He doesn't miss it, as far as Aziraphale can tell.

"Darling, your plants…" Aziraphale begins, because he can't help it, he wants to spoil Crowley rotten with compliments and affection. Crowley deserves it and Aziraphale has been saving quite a lot of affection. With interest.

"My plants," Crowley growls, "are the reason I leave you sometimes. These disappointing lifeforms need to be watered!" Crowley glares at the plants, and the plants seem to be shaking. 

"You're magical, my darling," Aziraphale says and kisses Crowley's cheek.

They need to start cooking, though. Aziraphale is very excited about using every fancy gadget in Crowley's kitchen and he's being helped by an old cooking book, which is actually a notebook that Aziraphale has inherited from his mother and the rest of the solitaire training team. 

Crowley drove Aziraphale around the town earlier to get every damn ingredient. Crowley intends to sit and watch Aziraphale cook and swoon. It's perfect. 

***

Crowley's flat has been chosen as… Ah, I don't know why it has been chosen, but it seemed right to Aziraphale, so Crowley agreed. He is very agreeable, especially if there's a wiggle involved. There were quite a few wiggles involved, along with happy moans and passionate gasps. They roll like that, Aziraphale and his darling Crowley. Aziraphale isn't capable of thinking about Crowley without adding at least one  _ darling _ to his thoughts. 

Aziraphale is cooking, Crowley is swooning - and swirling his wine.

"Angel," Crowley suddenly calls. His voice is so soft, Aziraphale fails to hear it, being all busy with the bechamel sauce. 

"Angel!" Crowley calls again, just a bit louder. 

"Yes, darling?" Aziraphale spares a look back at Crowley - and he should have known better, because he can't have just one look at Crowley. 

"I love you, angel," Crowley says. He quickly sticks his charming sharp nose deep inside the wine glass and looks aside.

Aziraphale is torn between giving up on bechamel and upsetting Crowley, so he keeps stirring the sauce and says: "Darling, could you please come over here?"

Crowley, of course, does. 

"I love you, my darling. Thank you." He offers his mouth for a kiss, although his eyes try to keep the watch over the sauce.

"For what, angel?" Crowley kisses Aziraphale, holds him around the waist. 

"For… for you, I guess."

No one is in the mood for guests right now, but they have time. There will be time. 

***

Gabriel and Bea arrive on time. Gabriel is trying to charm Crowley the way he usually tries to charm people - and  _ usually _ it works. Crowley, however, gets along famously with Bea after a minute of small talk, despite the fact that Bea just glares at him… Well, Crowley glares back as well. There's some serious mutual respect between the two.

Everything goes terribly wrong immediately, of course. 

First, Gabriel, having abandoned his  _ charm the boyfriend  _ mission, loses every filter and manner. 

"A bit like a sex dungeon, this place," Gabriel says to Crowley. Crowley and Bea are busy hissing at the scared plants. 

"There's nothing sexy about this place," Crowley replies coolly. "Apart from Aziraphale," and Crowley beams at Aziraphale, like a lovestruck fool. Gabriel huffs disparagingly, but then he notices that Bea is all sappy, so he quickly readjusts his face. 

"Nothing wrong with a sex dungeon either," Crowley adds. Bea claps his back. 

"Don't worry, Crowley, we do have a sex dungeon, and this place will need a lot of work if you ever want to turn it into one."

Aziraphale just pours everyone a drink.

The dinner is an affair worthy of songs - in terms of the food. 

Gabriel of course is only eating the green things, because he's on some sort of diet that involves green things. 

"Eat your envy, then," Crowley says and shoves a bit too much lasagna into his mouth. Aziraphale wants to lick him clean, but there are too many people around. "And green Skittles! And M&M's!"

Bea cheers him. They eat everything and are enjoying themself.

"It should be organic, natural," Gabriel explains. 

"Everything here is organic and natural," Aziraphale says quietly. 

"Uncle, I prefer to eat healthily. Maybe you should too, now that you have a young boyfriend." Gabriel smugly chews on his lettuce - until he realises that everyone is so silent one can hear Crowley's plants grow.

"I… I mean… you're… soft, uncle, and…"

Crowley hugs Aziraphale, protectively.

Bea stabs the table with their fork.

"No safe-word will save you now," Bea growls. 

"Oh… oh, I'm being an arsehole." Gabriel pales. Per usual, Aziraphale isn't sure whether it's fear or arousal.

"I'm just kidding, I'd never do that," Bea clarifies, then turns to Gabriel. "You're an arsehole."

"Aziraphale is perfect!" Crowley proclaims. "And I love him just as he is! And he's perfect. You're perfect, angel. Let's have seconds! Or is it thirds?"

Aziraphale isn't offended, well, not much, but he looks at Crowley, who's young and handsome and smitten with Aziraphale, of all people, for some reason. 

Gabriel is put on the dishwashing duty, which he fails because one needs a degree in computer science to operate Crowley's dishwasher, but fine, fine, Crowley fixes it and soon after he's alone with Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale who's looking at Crowley, worried and insecure. 

"Angel," Crowley carefully steps closer. "Angel… I love you, angel, remember? And I think I've been showing it terribly. Would you… would you come with me to the bedroom?"

Aziraphale just nods. Crowley takes his hand, brings it to his lips. "Wiggle for me, angel?" Crowley asks, but Aziraphale is too sad to wiggle. 

Crowley takes him to the bedroom. 

"May I undress you, angel?"

"Why… why would you… you're young and…"

"Shhhh, none of it, angel. Please. May I kiss you… everywhere?"

Aziraphale can't deny himself any pleasures and he can't deny Crowley a thing. So he nods. 

Crowley makes a quick work of Aziraphale's clothes. "There…" He kneels in front of Aziraphale. "There you are, my hot, soft lover." He kisses and nips at Aziraphale's belly. "Warm and funny and driving me crazy with your wiggles… You need softness to wiggle, angel…" 

Crowley gently pushes Aziraphale to sit on the bed, trails kisses up Aziraphale's thighs. "I can't get enough of you, do you know that? I look at you, and I want you… Want you hard, want you immediately. Was a torture, being your teacher." Crowley takes Aziraphale's cock in his hand. "Would you touch my hair, angel? Please? I love it when you touch my hair…" He doesn't wait for Aziraphale to follow his request, instead he takes Aziraphale's cock into his mouth and moans around it. 

Every time he's on his knees between Aziraphale's legs, he holds him right around the waist, pulling Aziraphale impossibly closer, deep inside his throat, burying that sharp nose in the swell of Aziraphale's belly. 

For a while, Aziraphale is lost to Crowley's mouth… it's a long while, but Crowley knows how to tease Aziraphale, how to prolong the pleasure. 

"I want to be all around you, angel, to kiss and suck and nip and bite…" And it's Crowley's who's covered in Aziraphale's bites… "Can't bite you, though. You're so perfect… " So he bites carefully, oh so carefully. 

And he pushes Aziraphale down. 

"Before we met…" More kisses, nips and loving bites. "Before we met, I thought…" Crowley reaches Aziraphale's lips and is lost there for some more time. 

Aziraphale can scarcely breathe. Crowley is always tender, but tonight he's properly melting Aziraphale to the core. 

"Before we met… I thought… I didn't care about food and… and taste. And then you came. Things suddenly became terrible or tasty, things… started to rhyme." 

Crowley takes both their cocks in his hand and starts stroking them, gazing at Aziraphale.

"You rhyme with warmth, with heat, with comfort, with… being sated and happy. I'd never been like that… never before you. I don't ever want to be back…" His hand is under Aziraphale's neck, pulling him into another kiss. He can feel Aziraphale's hips slowly thrusting into Crowley's hand on their cocks. 

And Crowley is often lost to the pure onslaught of tenderness that Aziraphale awakes in him, and when it happens, he can't do anything but drop his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and whine. 

"You… you made me alive, you're… I don't know how I could manage for so long without you. The air is better when you're next to me, when we're in the same room. Do you know that rain tastes sweet now? I tested this theory… it's true, I love you, angel, please…"

Aziraphale holds him through it, pushing himself up, so close to Crowley they might melt into each other, but that would be no fun at all, because it's so, so, so good, to have Crowley. 

"I love you too, darling. Thank you…"

"Shut up," Crowley begs breathlessly. "We're filthy…"

"No, love, we're sticky. Let's stick together!" Aziraphale holds Crowley very, very, very close, and yes, they are sticky. They will fall asleep together, and their awakening will be a bit gross. None will doubt that it was worth it.


End file.
